End Of The Line (© Shawn Flowers)
Page 1 Eddie Brewster sat cross legged on the
hard rooftop of the pharmacy; an unlit cigarette dangling precariously from his
lips. He was staring blankly at the mass of writhing bodies below him in the
parking lot. Hundreds upon hundreds of festering zombies stumbled around below.
The sun was setting and it cast an eerie glow on the scene before him. He sat
perched on the rooftop, like a king on his enormous throne, surveying his
kingdom of the undead. His loyal subjects were shuffling around under his feet,
as if awaiting his next royal oration. Only he wasn’t a king- he was a
prisoner- trapped on a roof, waiting to die. He let his gaze wander away
towards a more pleasant scene. His eyes scanned the buildings and treetops of
the small city he was now trapped in. The buildings were silhouetted as the sun
appeared to be melting behind the western side of the city. Eddie’s attention was drawn back to the
parking lot below by the sounds of the mob getting more and more aggressive
towards one another. He watched, silently, as his undead fans tripped over one
another and beat each other with rotting fists of fury. One zombie stumbled
into another accidentally, and was beaten furiously by the zombie whom it had stumbled
into. Then, suddenly, without any warning, dozens of other undead shamblers
turned toward the zombie being beaten, and began their own assault; beating and
kicking the fallen victim. The zombies appeared to be frustrated with each
other. They also seemed to want, very badly, to eat Eddie. It was as if they
were angry with one another because they couldn’t reach him, so they brawled in
the parking lot of the pharmacy like a drunken, angry mob after a football
game. Eddie sat watching -but not really watching-
the scuffle going down in the parking lot below him. He watched, with a sort of
numb indifference, as the zombies that had fallen were literally being torn to
pieces by their foul smelling peers. Some of the fallen zombies were being
ripped apart and their bloody limbs were dragged in several different
directions. Bloody innards spilled out onto the asphalt in wet glistening
piles. Some zombies would pick up handfuls of intestines and stuff them in
their mouths, only to spit them out in disgust. In his old life, Eddie had been a writer
and poet. He’d been most successful in writing children’s books, and as his
thoughts began to wander again, his tired and weary mind began creating
nonsense words and morbid nursery rhymes that Mother Goose would have been
proud of. Festering fists-a- flying! Morbid mobs of mangled morons,
marauding merrily; maliciously and maniacally murdering in the madness of the
meandering mob! Grabbing gobs of glistening guts and greedily gulping down
greasy, grimy… “Jesus-Fucking-A-Christ!” Eddie
screamed out at the top of his lungs, his breath suddenly coming in gasps. “I’m
losing my fucking mind over here!” He tucked his head down towards his lap to
shut out the thoughts and grabbed fistfuls of his own hair, clenching his eyes
shut tight. His sudden announcement drew the
unwanted attention of the horde. They ceased beating and ripping apart their
friends and began to wander towards the walls of the pharmacy again, where
Eddie now sat holding his head in his hands and rocking back and forth. Eddie began to sob; his sobbing suddenly
turning into a chuckle, which just as quickly turned into a maddening fit of
laughter. “You fucks!” he screamed at the
approaching mob, his voice still wavering with laughter. “You stupid fucking,
maggot breeding, pus buckets!” He laughed even harder, falling backwards onto
his back and rolling around on the cold rooftop. His involuntary fit of
laughter took over him completely and he laughed so hard he could barely catch
his breath. When his bout of sudden madness finally
ceased, his laughing slowed and he sat up, brought himself to his feet, and
wandered over to the edge of the roof. Looking down at the horde of undead, he
could see just how disgustingly rotted they were. They were filthy and covered
in blood, grime and other disgusting looking fluids that Eddie didn’t want to
guess at. Maggots could be seen wriggling from holes in their flesh; crawling
in and out of their eyes and nostrils. Thousands of flies were buzzing and
swarming around the rotting zombies. The sound of the flies buzzing was
maddening to Eddie. It was loud and it made him think of thousands of tiny
motor cross bikes all buzzing around in circles. Some of the flies would break
from the pack and fly up to visit Eddie. They would buzz about his head, flying
and dancing in crazy circles around him. He swatted at them, but they moved too
quickly for the swatting to do any good. “Fucking flies! I’m not dead and
rotting yet you bastards! Go back and eat those nasty things down there!” Eventually
the flies lost interest in him and he went back to peering over the edge of the
roof. The smell of all that decaying flesh wafted up to fill his nostrils, making
him feel queasy. He spat onto one of the zombies’ heads. [ Continue to page 2 ] |